


I Swam Upon The Devil's Lake

by alpapaca



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Gabriel (Supernatural) is Loki, I am beating the canon timeline with a stick, I'll also give warning if I need to bump the rating up a notch, I'll give warning if an 'and' tag changes more explicitly into 'slash', Lucifer Has Self-esteem Issues, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, M/M, Multi, Sam Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Loathing, Unreliable Narrator, but I've tagged right now for what I have planned, combining itself with a need to write a possession time-share fic, i mean really this is Sam Winchester he's got issues, like pretty mild through most of the fic and it definitely gets better as it goes along, oo had to add THAT one myself, the polyam relationship dynamics might change slightly as i write them, this basically sprouted from a theology discussion with a friend, this fic is relying pretty much entirely on seasons 1-5 and disregarding most everything past that, this is hrm, though currently i have no plans or desire to write anything that graphic or explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22475734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpapaca/pseuds/alpapaca
Summary: Sam doesn't know what he's expecting to happen after Lilith's death. An overwhelming sense of satisfaction, maybe? The ability to look his brother in the eye and say "I did the right thing, I stopped a monster," and actually mean it?Or maybe he doesn't expect anything. Maybe past the bravado and stubborn determination he doesn't actually want to come out the other end alive. Just wants a big showdown where he can make someone else feel as fucked up as he does.Regardless, the absolute last thing he could have expected was for Lilith's death to be a bad thing. To be the straw that broke the camels back. But he's going to work with it, he's going to get the hell out of dodge and find a new normal.Then again, can anything really be normal after you find yourself sharing a body with the devil?
Relationships: Gabriel & Lucifer (Supernatural), Gabriel/Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Lucifer & Sam Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 169





	1. Metempsychosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just here to add that this first chapter has some dissociation things going on, and they do continue slightly into the next chapter. This will not be an issue later in this fic, and I don't believe it is a large enough part of the text to warrant an Actual Tag, but if you are particularly sensitive then you might have a hard time while Sam is figuring stuff out. Stay safe!

The doors won’t open. 

The wood starts to splinter and break, disintegrating before him (and didn’t that give him hope— thick planks are breaking apart from the light and force that was building behind him, so what chance did his body have?) and yet the handles still won't budge. Strangely, past the initial deterioration, the wood of the door holds firm as well. With a sense of foreboding, Sam comes to the stunned realization that someone is holding the doors closed to them on purpose. He wonders if it is an angel or a demon and swallows heavily.

His brother is right next to him.

Dean had come for him. To stop him? To kill him? What did it matter, he ended up here and now. And if someone is intending for Sam to die here, then Dean had just thrown himself into the fire as well. For absolutely no good reason. He shouldn’t be here. He had said he wanted to kill him, would do so the next time he saw him. That he wouldn’t bother saving him anymore. He'd said he wouldn't search him out, wouldn't fight for him.

Dean shouldn’t have followed him. He should be as far from here as possible, saving people and waiting for Sam to fuck up enough to be a hunt.

With that thought he turns to look at him, the light behind them bright enough now that it's starting to bleach everything out— he can't quite make out his brother’s features. He can still hear him though. The sounds of his fists on the door panels as he bangs a few last beats before giving up. The sound of his breathing stuttering out between low, guttural sounds of frustration. There was the sound of something else, too.

Sam continues turning.

The light— _the Grace—_ is rising and the sounds are becoming clearer as well.

He hears a voice, edging at his mind with growing ferocity, words coming quickly one after the other with a desperation that Sam internalizes all too easily. _Please make it stop, don't do this to me, brother, no, just end this, just stop, why can’t this be over, don't, I can’t, let this end, please, just finish this—_

Dean is obviously hearing something as well, by the way his hands are twitching upwards as if he wants to cover his ears. As the voice gets louder, he gives in to the urge himself, hoping to block at least some of the sounds that are ripping straight through to his chest. His brother is here, he hadn't killed him (yet), everything was fine, everything would _become_ fine. They are _fine_ , they— 

_Why can’t this be over, don't, let this end, please, just finish this—_

Dean is here. Next to him. Trying to escape _with_ him. He wasn't— Dean _wouldn't_ — 

_You said you loved me, brother, Father, please just end this I don't want this—_

Sam presses his hands harder over his ears and squeezes his eyes shut. His brother had just been angry, he hadn’t meant it. He is here next to him. He is _hurting_ next to him and it was all Sam’s fault, everything happening is Sam’s fault he just wishes— 

_Don't you want this to be over? Like I do?_

It's then, in a moment of horrified and desperate self loathing, listening to the frantic whispers asking him to end it quickly, when all Sam can think is... _yes, I do_.

  
  


And then he and his brother are surrounded by light.

  
  
  
  


His eyes open, then quickly squeeze shut in an effort to mitigate the pain. Everything hurts. It is almost worse than it had been before. _Before? What? What’s going—_ There is a quiet voice near him that is speaking, asking for his name— _Name… name…._ He lowers his arms — _when did those move in front of my face—_ and gives a quick glance around where he is sitting— _sitting? —_ reassured but conflicted as he sees Dean sitting next to him and an animated man stuttering his way through his own name— _Sam._

_I could use a guy like you._

“What the hell?”

“I don’t know,” he says quickly, and is glad when a voice sounds out— _intercom—_ giving their location and travel path. Dean is speaking but he can’t focus on him. Pieces inside of him are shifting, moving, prodding at different edges. A voice— no, a memory— plays in one corner of his mind— _You didn’t need the feather to fly. It had to be you, Sammy. He’s gonna repay you—_ and a jolt goes down his spine.

He swallows thickly, nausea building in his gut as every small shift of the plane brings out a new pain. A memory— no, a voice— speaks out— _You are Samuel Winchester—_ and then outside the plane a pillar of light explodes into the sky and everything goes spinning.

Shaking,

Sam pulls the dropped oxygen mask onto his face even as he doubts that he’d need it. Dean stares, shell-shocked, out the window as passengers and staff scramble around the plane, making noises that Sam is sure he should be able to hear. Should, but can’t. Not past the screams and chatter pressing in at the front of his brain, spiking his migraine and causing that inner prodding presence to go still— _he’s out— it’s started— finally— no— brother— how could we fail— the vessels— no— Lucifer—_

_Lucifer._


	2. An Absence of Synderesis

Sam doesn’t speak to his brother as they get off the plane after it’s emergency landing, simply follows him out of the airport and into the car rental. He knows Dean probably thinks he is stewing in guilt— and he is— but even just simply walking is as much as he can handle with how hard his head is pounding and with how the giant presence— being— inside him occasionally twinges something as it pushes and shuffles around. It's unsettling and does absolutely nothing to help him keep his equilibrium.

A part of him thinks he should say something. But nothing bad has happened yet, and what would he say anyway? "I guess the devil chose me to be his meat suit but doesn't seem to want to take control," or maybe "I guess possession is considered a prize these days…. surprise!" 

Both seemed a little…. crass. Dean would just scream at him in response. Which he'll have to sit through eventually. At some point. Just preferably not when his head is pounding from being stuffed full of something that normally lives in a completely different temporal dimension.

And who has very little understanding of the modern world, he realizes as the pounding in his head increases once more as they get into the rental car. He'd thought that the pain as he looked at television screens and buses had just been because of the excessive light and sound, but perhaps it was a side effect of his new passenger attempting to figure them out.

His hand reaches towards the radio after they’ve been on the road a few miles, tapping and adjusting the controls curiously as the lights flicker on. His head starts spinning a little again as the radio announcer's words ping inner confusion. "Abandoned convent" garners a bit of sympathy as well as disgust, whereas "terrorist" gets a flash of confusion and a quick mental shuffle that gives Sam vertigo.  **_Stop that._ **

"Change the station," Dean says, deceptively calm, and Sam pauses a moment.

**_Go ahead and continue_ ** _ , _ he decides. His new headmate presses a button and gives off a brief moment of accomplishment at figuring it right on the first try, before Sam hurriedly takes control and presses the button a few more times in quick succession as he tries to get away from news of potential mass destruction.

Finally he just turns the radio off.

He sighs, and shakes his head at the questions he feels on the edge of his thoughts. Realizing that without the impala’s usual (albeit limited) music library the lack of conversation is turning stifling, he reluctantly opens his mouth to speak.

“Dean, look—” he starts.

Dean cuts him off. “Don’t say anything.”

Sam wonders if he’d still be saying that if he knew the truth of the situation. To tell or not to tell? And what convinced Dean to work with him again, anyway? Shouldn’t they talk about the phone calls they’ve made to each other, at the very least?

“It’s okay,” Dean says, cutting into Sam’s internal debate. “We just gotta keep our heads down and hash this out, all right?”

Sam hesitates. Dean seems calm for now, but he doubts that would last if he acts anything but agreeable. “Yeah, okay,” he decides. Rocking the boat can come later. Dean being here is tenuous enough without letting him know that he made a mistake even past the demon blood.  _ Anger, fear, reproach—  _ a prod at the memory floating there just under Sam’s surface thoughts— ‘ _ I’m done trying to save you'—  _ before Sam cuts it off.

**_He’s my brother. I can still help him, for as long as he lets me,_ ** he directs internally, and is thankful when Lucifer quiets down. He feels a wave of pained understanding and has to close his eyes as nausea resurfaces at the flashes of emotion and memory that siphon over before Lucifer hurriedly reigns them in.

“Sam?” Sam opens his eyes blearily to find Dean is glancing over at him. A small part of him feels satisfaction at the fact that his brother looks worried, even after everything. Or maybe it is  _ because _ of everything that he’s worried; he might be afraid that Sam is about to go off the deep end and ruin things. Again. 

The third part of him is hurriedly trying to get a hold of himself so that his brother will stop asking questions he doesn’t want to answer. Saying “yeah I’m good it’s just that I think angels have more than five senses” would definitely not help with anything, so he holds that comment back and just nods.

Dean furrows his brow but accepts it and continues on. “All right, well, first things first: how did we end up on Soul Plane?”

The question leads to more small flashes of memory— more restrained this time and almost proffered to Sam as if to help him answer Dean’s question— and Sam infers the sense of warmth and nostalgia to mean— “Angels? Maybe?” That doesn’t seem quite right but Lucifer seems hesitant to give any more than that so he continues on. “I mean, you know, beaming us out of harm’s way?”

Dean spares him another glance but then acquiesces with a grumble. “Well whatever. It’s the least of our worries. We need to find Cas."

Yeah, find Cas, who will probably take one look at him and know exactly what he did. Nevermind that the devil seems content enough to sit inside him, childishly poking at every new thing he sees, if Cas sees his Grace inside Sam he’ll think he gave in to the end of the world.

Which… isn’t  _ wrong _ per say, it just isn’t  _ completely right _ either. He got better. Sort of. He’s not feeling like he should give up and die, at least. He’s past his momentary desperation now, past his ambitions of getting emotional resolution at the cost of everything he was, and now he’s just trying to think of ways to move forward. Lucifer seems to be a bit better about the pained self loathing he had felt too, mostly due to the curiosity he has for quite literally everything. The overload of new information is taking over nearly every emotion that Sam can sense from the being sharing his body.

Amazing what being released from excruciating pain can do for your mental health. And, you know, the ability to actually move around.

As if feeling his train of thought— and maybe he was, as Sam seems to be getting a near constant stream of words and emotions mixed with small flashes of sensory details, some of which he  _ really _ didn’t think a human was supposed to try to comprehend— Lucifer pushes a little further towards the surface again. Sam sends him a questioning feeling, and to his surprise receives clear words in response.

_ We can hide my Grace from other angels. _

**_Wait what?_ ** Sam blinks out at the road, not really seeing it. **_Really? Are you sure?_ **

_ Yes, I think I can manage. I used to do this to play with my brothers, _ he adds with a twinge of what Sam interprets as melancholy.  _ I do not know if I will need anything physical to tie this to you longer, as I am only used to temporary Grace bindings, but I should be able to use a small amount of Grace to create these wards without being detected. _

**_And even if you_ ** **are** **_detected,_ ** he says with a surge of hope,  **_We are currently going seventy-five down a highway._ **

_ Ah…….yes, _ Lucifer thinks back after a moment that is probably used to make sure he understood the concepts Sam used correctly.  _ That should help, too. _

**_...Why?_ ** Sam doesn’t specify, but he knows that Lucifer will understand.

_ I—  _ flashes of remembered Grace, a blinding pain—  _ do not think I want my brothers to know I am here any more than you do. _

Sam is quiet for a moment, reflecting. A glance at his brother shows that Dean isn't interested in continuing any conversation. In Dean’s mind, they’ve talked enough. Well in that case…. In for a penny, in for a pound. If he's going to keep this hidden, he might as well do the full job.  **_Teach me?_ **

Lucifer pauses in turn, before agreeing.  _ As long as you teach me, too, _ he says, poking at a few memories of demon wards and hex bags.

Sam is surprised, as angels always seemed to know a lot more about everything than he did. Then again, Lucifer hadn’t exactly been able to watch magic grow the past few centuries.  **_Alright. Where should we start?_ **

_ If it is possible you could…. Come closer to me. _

**_Closer?_ **

_ Try to….get to the point in your mind where I exist. Away from things that are physical. _

Sam thinks for a moment, staring out the window confused.  **_Away from the….. You mean my subconscious? Like meditation?_ **

This just seems to confuse Lucifer more.  _ That seems too physical _ he says after a moment,and frustration spikes along their mutual network as neither understands any of the half-formed thoughts and images the other is attempting to show them. Sam tries not to let any of the irritation show in his body language, conscious of his brother a mere foot away from him, but it is probably only due to the dark stretch of highway that Dean doesn’t notice enough to be concerned.

Away from the physical world…..  **_Could you sit for a moment? I want to try something and see if it works._ **

Lucifer stops attempting to find human words for what he wants, and quiets down.  _ I will…… Sit here, _ he agrees.

Sam closes his eyes, and tries to imagine somewhere safe.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, *cracks knuckles* so this fic currently has 14k written and no beta, so if I miss any typos or have someone sit down twice without standing up in between, then that is entirely on me and my tired brain. Feel free to point out anything that would take just a minute or two to fix.
> 
> Also..... Keep in mind the 'unreliable narrator' tag, that's particularly important this chapter. I will address some things that Sam glosses over as being 'fine' again in later chapters.
> 
> I definitely started this intending for polyam and identity porn shenanigans but Sam & Luci seem intent on wallowing forever in their own personal avoidance bubble so I'm not sure how long it'll take me to actually get there. Condolences to you, dear reader, but also to my keyboard for dealing with my smashing about. I'll make sure there's plenty of fun character study and plot development to make up for any emotional constipation.
> 
> Cheers!


	3. I Know What Freedom Means

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmmm this one is hard to juggle events for. Sorry for any gross dialogue paragraphs that are essentially cut-pasted from canon. I tried to cut as much as I could but this end scene unfortunately needs to happen with SOME context otherwise it just doesn't read well. Bear with me-- it should be the last big burst of canon for, well, basically the rest of the fic.

The apartment that Sam had shared with Jess had been large and cozy. A single bedroom, a kitchen, bathroom, and living room, with walled hallways in between that gave Jess plenty of room to hang her all her favorite photos. He had filled every room with bookshelves— a tiny one in the bathroom for toiletries and a slightly larger one in the kitchen for cookbooks, the rest varying sizes to fit the walls of each room— and Jess had filled every surface they could spare with plants.

Sam had started visiting the local thrift stores in his free time, hoping to find things he liked. Had brought home a few shitty vases, multiple fruit bowls, and a bunch of records he didn’t even have a player for. The rooms had been so large compared to the motels and dorms he’d lived in his entire life that he had no idea how he was going to fill the space otherwise.

Jess had laughed at him and told him he was silly, that they’d fill the spaces naturally with things that they needed and things that they loved. She then proceeded to buy flowers and fruit for them every week anyway, stating that putting them to use might make them look nicer. Said she'd get _some_ value out of them, despite them being the silliest things she'd seen since moving in.

  
  


Moving in, all of Sam’s belongings had fit into two boxes and two bags.

Moving in, Sam had memorized the shape and size of each shelf, planning out what he might purchase and when he’d be able to afford it.

He had promised himself that he’d fill them all with good memories.

It stood to reason that when he closed his eyes, he could still remember every inch.

  
  
  


_Oh._

Sam remembers the size of his old living room, letting the noise of the car engine fall to the background as he focuses on his own breathing, on remembering the smell of Jess’s old family quilts and the coffee beans he would grind fresh every morning.

The size and shape of the space are easy enough to call to mind but those smaller details, the ones that make it feel real, take him a few more moments to grab and hold onto. Hesitantly, he calls out. **_Is this fine?_ **

He feels a slight pressure as his headmate pokes towards him and steadies his breathing so that he doesn’t lose his tenuous grip on what he’s created. Slowly everything around him starts to brighten, losing the low glow that came from only having floor lamps and antiquated overhead lighting, and shifting instead into what the apartment had looked like on summer afternoons. On those days when he and Jess would open the blinds on all their windows and curl up together on the couch, each with a book, only bothering to getting up when the world went dark around them.

  
  


Sam turns around.

Lucifer floats between the coffee table and the far bookshelf, twisting in place as he looks around. He is shining; a bright and flickering rainbow spot that is surprisingly non-human. Sam had expected to see a man, perhaps even a mirrored version of himself, but not…..whatever it is that he is seeing. Sam squints, watching what looks a lot like ram horns bend in and out of view as he registers and then promptly loses sight of both an otter and a horse.

_Oh! Right._ Sam blinks and Lucifer seems to…. Straighten. His form pulls in towards itself and loses some of its edges while the light he is emitting starts to fade to be a more uniform white. _You are human, I apologize. I forgot myself._

“Oh! No! No, no, you’re fine,” Sam hurries to say. “That was fine, I was just… Curious,” he finishes lamely. 

_Curious,_ Lucifer states, seemingly bewildered.

“Yes, it’s just. Is this what you look like...normally?” Sam isn’t sure how to word things, so hurriedly he adds— “I mean, outside of a vessel?”

_I…. Yes, I suppose. At least, this is my mental perception of myself. Angels tend to have a good grasp of their existence's nature, but I probably look slightly different when viewed naturally. Especially now that I no longer…._

Sam winces as he trails off, feeling more than a little guilty as he picks up on a fresh wave of pain. "So, uh, you can teach me here?"

Lucifer starts spinning again, losing his board-like texture and letting out a low hum. Around him, the apartment wavers like a mirage and for a moment Sam thinks it might fall to pieces. Yet it doesn’t, things settle and go nearly quiet, and Sam watches as the angel moves closer to one of the bookshelves. A volume gets tugged out, flying to lay splayed open on the coffee table. Lucifer examines it and then hums again, slightly higher this time.

_Yes, I think this should do nicely. If you will… "sit for a moment…,” then we can start. We are intended for each other; I do not think the sharing of information will be that difficult for us. However, I… have not taught anyone in quite a while._

Sam frowns, but shoves his feelings aside for the moment and sits. "It should be another twenty minutes until we switch cars. Then, knowing Dean, another hour at least after that before we stop again. I think… it's best if the warding is done first. Then we can take as long as we want discussing things."

_Wards before explanations..._ Lucifer flickers in surprise. _Of course. Then… if you would watch..._

  
  
  
  


"Sam," Dean says as he shakes him, "we're here. Come on."

Sam blinks a little blearily, pulling himself out of the trance state with a little more effort than he would have preferred. His first step out of the car results in him almost falling over before he regains his equilibrium.

**_That was. Abrupt._ **

_Yes. Perhaps we should work on a way to be more aware of our surroundings. At least we were finished with what we needed to do._

Sam frowns, agreeing. The initial stop (to ditch the rental for a different car not as easily tracked, one that was hotwired far away from airport security) hadn't been as bad, maybe because of the shorter ride, and Sam had still had some sort of awareness of when the car slowed to a stop. This time he'd lost track of most sensations; Dean had probably assumed he'd dozed off. It would be bad if something malicious got close to him while he was convening in his headspace, so he should probably work on that but... 

His frown deepens as he gets a good look at where they've stopped.

_This is...the prophet's house?_

"This is where I left Cas," Dean explains. "We had to come here for information."

Information on where Sam had gone, is the unspoken explanation, and Sam feels another pang of guilt over his actions.

Lucifer presses closer as they climb out of the car. _I am not sorry that you have released me._

**_I…. Don't think that I am, either. Well, not the fact that you're out. You seem to be different than everyone assumed you'd be. I don't think I would let you end up back....there.... The situation as a whole, though? Yeah, no, I could have done a lot better._ **

Lucifer is silent at that, and they walk a few steps behind Dean towards the house. As soon as they are inside, however, Dean falls back a little. Sam doesn't pay him too much attention, and instead focuses completely on the destruction in front of him.

**_What happened?_ **His eyes sweep over the room, looking for clues as to what caused this while listening for any signs of life. Something feels off about the place and Lucifer seems on edge, his steady humming pulling even closer to their joined center. There’s a tingling sensation in the side of his head, like a sense he isn’t quite aware of is being set off.

_This place feels like my brother._

Sam frowns, getting the impression that he isn't speaking of Castiel. Or rather, not _only_ Castiel.

_Do not worry— None of my brothers are here at this point in time. Only a human._

At that Sam relaxes. Anything non-angel can be dealt with easily, and if there is only one human then it is most likely just Chuck. There's a creak from somewhere in the house and despite the fact that Sam usually takes point when Dean is upset with him, he allows himself to seemingly become absorbed in examining an area strewn with papers. Nothing comes charging out at them, so with the assurance of an archangel he ignores the wave of irritation from his brother (that he actively feels— is this a new angel thing?) until Dean is forced to take a step into the next room himself. 

"Ow!"

Dean goes reeling back and Sam bolts upright, relaxing and sending a glare at his brother's back when he registers that it's just Chuck weilding a toilet plunger. Honestly, a half-drunk human shouldn’t be able to get the jump on him so easily.

"Dean,” the prophet states, eyes wide and voice more than a little shaky. He is covered with something, probably blood and dirt considering the mess that is his house, and is looking his brother over a little frantically. This apocalypse business has done little good for him the past few weeks. Sam averts his eyes.

"Yeah," Dean bites out, one hand pressed to his head. 

"Sam?” Chuck seems incredulous and even more shocked to see him than he was to see Dean. “So...You’re okay?"

Sam gives a distracted nod, noticing that Dean is using his right hand to prod at his face. This leaves his left hand in the prime position to pull a weapon if surprised— his _nondominant_ hand.

Chuck is still staring, so after a half second pause Sam looks at him questioningly.

“I mean, I have a headache,” Sam hedges. Then tries not to freeze up as the thought hits him— did Chuck _See_ him get possessed?

“No, I mean—” Chuck starts, almost as if answering Sam’s unspoken question. “I mean, my— My last vision. You went like… full-on Vader. Your body temperature was one-fifty. Your heart rate was two hundred. Your eyes were _black._ ”

“Your eyes went black?” Dean whirls around, that angry furrow back between his eyes.

“I didn’t know,” Sam says heavily. He swallows. **_They went black?_ **

Lucifer is quiet.

Dean’s lip twitches, and he obviously holds words back before turning abruptly back to Chuck. “Where’s Cas?”

Chuck winces. “He’s dead. Or gone. The archangel smote the crap out of him. I’m sorry.”

Sam closes his eyes, even as he hears his brother continue questioning. He can’t bring himself to hope for anything, not after all he’s witnessed angels do for the sake of what’s “good.” He thinks again about the door that locked him in with the gate to the devil. That locked _Dean_ in with the gate to the devil. As if Sam and Dean were both the same, were both meaningless casualties, were both needing punishment for their actions. As if Dean had done anything worth being killed over.

“I need to get some air,” he gasps out, feeling as if the world is spinning around him. He doesn’t bother looking at his brother as he heads for the door. Someone calls his name but he focuses on the doorknob, afraid that if he looks away from it for even a moment the nausea and the buzzing will make him keel over. He’s almost there, too, when there’s a shift in space and a body is suddenly blocking his way. Not just a body— An angel.

“Thought we’d find you here.” 

Sam turns grudgingly, feeling like he’s vibrating out of his skin as the sensation of three angels— three Vessels full of Grace— registers and rushes over him.

“Playtime’s over, Dean,” Zachariah adds. “Time to come with us.”

_Brothers…._

“You keep your distance, asshat,” Dean points at Zachariah angrily while darting a few suspicious glances in the direction of Sam and his own personal angel grunt bodyguard.

_It appears that they cannot sense me. The wards are holding._

Sam can’t help but be relieved, though he immediately feels that relief mingle with guilt as he watches his brother argue with a creature he could easily scare away if he only came clean. The proof of what an archangel could do to the lower class was all around him after all. Literally.

“You’re upset," Zechariah states, as if he cares.

“Yeah, a little. You sons of bitches jump started judgement day!”

“Maybe we let it happen. _We_ didn’t _start_ anything. Right, Sammy?” He pointedly looks in Sam’s direction and winks, the slimy bastard. “You had a chance to stop your brother, and you couldn’t,” he adds, as if that somehow gives him the high moral ground, “So let’s not quibble over who started what. Let’s just say it was all our faults and move on, ‘cause like it or not it’s Apocalypse now. And we’re back on the same team again.” 

“Is that so?”

“You want to kill the Devil—” Sam barely withholds a flinch. “We want you to kill the devil—” Lucifer dims. “It’s ... _synergy_.”

“And I’m just supposed to trust you?” Dean scoffs. “Cram it with walnuts, ugly.”

Sam mentally sighs. He really can’t bring himself to take the angels very seriously towards himself, not since he knows he himself can’t be killed by any normal methods now, but he still wishes that Dean would stop picking fights when he’s caught without a plan.

Unless…. 

Sam lets his eyes wander as Zachariah makes a valiant effort to scare the will of God into Dean, futile as it is. His brother had purposefully refrained from raising his left hand earlier… What had he…

With a start, Sam realizes that there’s a drop of blood on the floor next to Dean’s feet. The angels aren’t paying attention, not to him, not to the demon-blooded abomination, so he lets his eyes dart around the room. Following the path his brother walked as they entered, he notices a small partition sticking out from the wall. A sliding door.

“You’re bleeding.” Zachariah’s sudden change of tone cuts through his thoughts.

“Oh yeah, a little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up,” Dean says with more than a little dark cheer, and Sam’s eyes widen just as much as Zachariah’s do.

**_Shit_ ** _,_ he thinks, and flings himself backward, hoping to catch the angel behind him off guard and escape outside, but the slam of a hand on the door cuts the air and his vision goes blurry— every piece of him tugged in a different direction— before dark spots obscure his vision and his sense of self disappears.


	4. Getting What You Can

Sam blinks his eyes open.

A shoulder rolls testingly, and when there is no pain Lucifer pushes them upright.

_Well that was unpleasant._

**_You can say that again._ **

_…..That was unpleasant._

**_No— You don’t, uh… That’s just a figure of speech. I agree with you, basically. I never thought that being banished would be pleasant but… Man I felt like I was going to wake up in three separate states for a moment there._ **

_Yes, I… have never been banished before, though I knew it could happen. My brothers will have felt it even more intensely, I believe._

Sam tensed. **_Will they wake up here too?_ **

_…. No. The sigil just forces angelic entities away from the source. It is not one directional and applies the same amount of force in all directions. Since I am a larger angelic presence I would not have been sent as far away as the smaller angels. I was also warded, and clutching at your soul, so the distance we traveled should be a good portion less than theirs._

**_Oh, I see. And they must have been sent in different directions from each other as well?_ **

_Yes, because they were standing away from each other. The sigil is the center._

Sam looks around. The fingers on the hand supporting him are digging into loose dirt, but it looks like _he_ may be the reason it is loose in the first place. There's a sharp line cut through the surrounding field, leading to where he is sitting, and his clothes have dirt and broken bits of plant scuffed all over them.

He raises a hand to ruffle his hair, attempting to get the dirt out, while Lucifer stretches his grace out in a circular movement that seems to resettle him much like a human rolling their shoulders.

**_Now….where are we?_ **

_A field_ , comes the reply, and Sam laughs as they stand up.

**_I'm more interested in where the field is located. The nearest town, which of the states we got thrown to. If we are even still_ ** **in** **_the states._ **

_Oh. We did not get pushed very far. I am unsure if I can match your memories to my own bearings but we did not leave the continent._

**_Ah. That’s good then. I would hate to have woken up in Romania._ ** Sam looks around and picks a direction,starting to walk. 

He finds a road after a few minutes of pushing through corn stalks, and pauses, looking in both directions hoping to see a road sign. 

_I sense more human presences to the left, but there are a fair number closer to us if you turn right._

**_‘A fair number’ is how many, exactly? Just a family, or..?_ **

_A few thousand, but turning left would take you to triple that. I do not know if you would rather get lost in a crowd or have somewhere small to regain yourself._

**_Ah….. Well, neither option is actually all that large, so..._ ** Traveling longer and having time to think would be nice, but having a payphone would also be nice. Nevermind the cell in his pocket, having to use a payphone would give him time and a reason for not contacting Dean. If Dean even _wanted_ to be contacted. Who knows what he thought, at this point.

Then again, traveling longer would give him more time before he would end up using said payphone...

Sam turns, making his decision.

  
  
  


An hour or so later, after having managed to convince a local in a beat up Chevy that he was trying to find a payphone after a prank gone wrong, Sam finds himself staring at the outside of a bright but worn out diner. He wasn’t hungry, wasn’t even tired, but sitting down for a cup of coffee and a few pancakes felt normal in a way he was starting to think would be hard to come by. He glances at the payphone across the parking lot, then turns away and heads through the diner’s doors instead.

  
  


The building has a cherry red roof and a design that obviously belonged to some other business back in the 80s. A Taco Bell, maybe? Though why anyone would have attempted to float a _Taco Bell_ out here was beyond him. The space was small, but obviously rolling with the mock-50s style the outside had been cursed with— cherry red vinyl booth seats matched the cherry red trim on the metal countertops.

He brushes himself off as best he can in the doorway, using all the glass as a mock-mirror to try to check his hair for any more dirt. Then a tendril of Grace reaches out and, when Sam only pauses to see what he’s trying to do, Lucifer pushes it down their body, sweeping off a layer of grit and leaving them cleaner than they'd been even before their rough tumble. Surprised, Sam sends him a few words of gratitude before pushing the door open to head inside.

“Hey honey, just you today?”

The woman at the counter looks tired and distracted, the flirtation rolling off her tongue out of habit rather than any actual interest, and Sam is grateful. He isn't sure he'd be able to handle any direct scrutiny just now.

“Uh, yeah,” he responds. “Just me,” he adds, feeling a bit silly for feeling like that’s a deception.

The waitress sets a book to the side in order to grab a menu from her stack at the counter and then leads him to one side. “Want a seat at the counter, or a booth?”

“A booth, please. If it’s not too much trouble,” he adds, glancing around at the mostly empty restaurant.

“Oh no, no trouble at all. This is our dead time; pretty much all the locals are in at 5 AM before heading out to work. All those that actually work in town tend to swing in on their lunch breaks instead, which isn’t for another hour or so. You got plenty of time before you’ll have to start fighting anyone for your leg room,” she jokes.

Sam quirks a smile at her as he slides into his seat.

“Just a coffee to start with?”

“Uh, yes, thank you,” he says, accepting the menu she holds out. “With cream, please. And a water.”

“You got it!”

Sam glances through the menu as she leaves. It’s standard diner fare, with breakfast served all day and a few chef specials to add variety to the standard soups and sandwiches. The dessert menu is surprisingly large, with eight kinds of pie, and he finds himself thinking of his brother for a moment before catching himself.

“So what are you passing through town for? On your way to Hopkinsville?”

Sam looks up as the waitress sets down a mug, folding his menu back up and sliding it toward the aisle while she pours him some coffee. “Uh, not sure really. Planned a road trip but got in a fight. I ended up drunk after, and woke up on the edge of town in someone’s yard. Not really my best moment,” he said ruefully as the waitress— ‘Wynona’ her nametag said— raised an eyebrow at him. “Now I’m just trying to decide if I want to suck it up and keep moving by myself, or call my brother and let him say ‘I-told-you-so.’”

“Well we don’t have any car rentals in town, if that’s what you’d be looking for,” Wynona says, brow still raised, “I can direct you onto a proper bus, though. I’m guessing your road trip partner was someone your family didn’t approve of?”

Sam tries not to grimace, but something must pass visibly across his face because Wynona leans her hip on the table and sets the coffee pot down. Lucifer wavers a bit at this display before settling back down to watch.

"You're what, mid-twenties?" _Millennia_ a part of him whispered, but Sam nods and she continues. "Young people are basically _programmed_ to do stupid shit every now and then. Its family's job to watch you do it and then come get you afterwards. Eat your food, call your brother, see how long it'll take him to come get you. Maybe by the time he gets here he'll have said 'I-told-you-so' so many times to himself and his friends that you won't have to hear it yourself."

At that Sam does grimace, and seeing it Wynona barks a laugh.

"The sooner you do it, the sooner you can get over it," she says. "Now, what'll you have?"

Sam orders his omelet, fruit salad, and side of bacon without having to face anymore teasing, then asks if they have any newspapers lying around. Wynona drops a few off a minute later, along with a paperback adventure novel, before leaving him to it.

He sets aside the novel for the moment, and instead flips open the first page of the newspaper on top of the stack. He takes a sip of his coffee, grounding himself for a moment in the headlines screaming about one political party or another. It's nice, sitting there letting the sounds of clanking dishware and menial small talk wash over him, Lucifer pressing towards the front in order to see through his eyes. Occasionally the angel repeats a phrase, reading the text as if the second pass will let him understand even when the first didn't.

Sam starts taking these lingering moments as chances to explain human interactions to him. He seems baffled, especially when they get into the personal ads, by what humans deem to be important. 

He’s in the middle of explaining the purpose of obits ( _I suppose I do not understand why people read newspapers to see if someone has died rather than just visiting them regularly. I understand that humans cannot sense a soul's passing, but it seems inefficient._ **_Well they may not know where the person lives and just meet them at a communal place instead._ ** _I was under the impression that those… ‘cell phone numbers' were widely used._ **_They are, but if you meet someone at a local uh, chess club then… you might just meet them there every Tuesday night at 7 for a game or two instead of actually exchanging contact information._ **) when someone slides into the seat across from him.

"Okay, cough it up, hotshot. How'd you two bozos manage to find me?"

Sam freezes. Lucifer wavers in concern, but he barely notices past the sound of his own blood rushing as his heart threatens to beat right out of his chest. He wishes he hadn't drunk so much coffee, because he's starting to feel nauseous.

"And why'd you spring for me so fast, anyway? I heard the Devil got out of his little time-out zone just last night. Haven't you ever heard of a 'cooling off' period?"

That trickster is sitting across from him. The one he'd thought they'd killed a few years ago. The one that stuck him in a time loop and then ran away.

"I mean honestly, there's living for the job and there's _living_ the job— and that second one is rather sad, if you ask me."

The one that killed Dean again and again and again and then set everything back when Sam begged him to.

  
And he said ‘ _two_ ’ bozos. _Two_. Screwed didn't even begin to cover it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly when I planned this encounter I thought it would only take me about 3k words to get here. Welp!


	5. Creator of What's Now Cliche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recap:
> 
> That trickster is sitting across from him. The one he'd thought they'd killed a few years ago. The one that stuck him in a time loop and then ran away.
> 
> The one that killed Dean again and again and again and then set everything back when Sam begged him to.
> 
> And he said ‘two.’ Two bozos. Screwed didn't even begin to cover it.

“Now where’s that brother of yours? Can’t really get this party started without him, now can we? And all that pesky little warding—” the trickster’s nose wrinkles— “you’ve got going on you now is interfering with even my own tricky little senses.”

“He’s not here,” Sam says faintly.

At that, the trickster looks at him. Actually looks at him. Sam meets his eye.

He wasn't looking at Lucifer. He wasn't _referring_ to Lucifer. They were still fine.

“You can’t be serious.” The trickster’s face turns condescending and Sam meets his gaze evenly, for all that he’s feeling a little lightheaded. “You really expect me to believe that?”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” Sam forces out. “Dean isn’t here with me.”

The trickster rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna _kill_ him if that’s what you’re thinking. Honestly. It’s like you kill a guy once and no one ever trusts you around him again.”

“You killed him more than once,” Sam states. 

Lucifer perks up at that, but Sam brushes against him lightly and he calms back down, content to wait and watch.

“Semantics.” Another eyeroll. Then the trickster raises a hand and puts on a smile. “Hey sweetheart, can I get a shortstack and a coffee over here?”

“What are you doing here?” Sam asks, blinking slowly as he finally lays the newspaper down flat and accepts that yes, this really is happening.

“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing here,’ what are _you_ doing here?” The trickster sounds rough, turning back to Sam sharply and giving him a glare. “If you aren’t here for me, and it seems that you aren’t, then what the hell’s brought you to this dirty little spot of the world? No offense,” he adds as Wynona nears the table with the coffee pot and Sam's ordered omelet. “But you gotta admit this place ain’t no Hilton.”

Wynona sets a mug down on the table and looks the guy over. “You certainly don’t _look_ like his brother.”

The trickster looks mildly disgusted. “Well I sure hope not.”

“Then why are you interrogating one of my customers? If you aren’t family then it’s not your business. _Especially_ if you’re the friend that dumped him here."

"What, you finally got dumped by her?” The trickster whirls his head back around to face Sam with some tint of unholy glee. “I coulda told you myself, she's got a mean streak a mile wide," the trickster continues, seemingly unphased by the waitress's glare as he grabs four packets of sugar and starts tearing them open and dumping them into his mug.

"What, like you don't?" Sam says flatly, then turns when all the guy does is bare his teeth at him in a smile that's far too homicidal to be friendly. "It's okay, Wynona. Thank you, but I've got this. He's…. Someone I haven't seen in a while. If you could just give us some privacy that would be great, thanks."

"Along with my pancakes," the trickster puts in, trying a sip of his coffee.

"Along with his pancakes, and," Sam hesitates, then requests, "Some whipped cream and strawberry syrup, if you have them." No sense in aggravating a creature that can bend reality when he was still trying to keep his angel issue under wraps.

"Aw, Sammy, you _do_ remember how to charm me!"

"Well if you're sure," Wynona looks at him a little doubtfully but walks off nonetheless.

“Soooo,” the trickster drawls out, leaning back in his seat and pulling the wrapper off a sucker. “You got ditched by that black-eyed bitch? She figure you aren’t worth anything anymore now that the devil’s out of the bag?”

“ _She’_ s dead,” Sam hisses, trying not to think about angry voicemails and questions of his humanity. “So I’d say that _I_ was the one doing the ditching, don’t you think?”

“Ooohhh, so your big bro’s the one who ditched you,” he says as if with some sort of great understanding, and Sam’s teeth clench. “Or are you thinking of going back to him now that everything’s all done? Talk about codependency!” He chuckles around the lollipop and Sam takes a deep breath.

“Not really,” Sam says. “I’m here without him right now, aren’t I?”

The trickster pauses in his off-kilter humor. Then hums. “So you are. Touche,” he says with a head tilt, as if to show deference. As if a trickster would defer to a human.

“Right. Well. We’ve established that neither of us knew the other would be here until we actually, physically saw each other. Which reminds me, you said the warding is working?” It was good to know it was effective, that he couldn't tell Sam had a second soul even after he'd flung a few hundred miles. They hadn't been certain how effective things woulds be against non-angelic creatures, either.

The trickster huffs. “‘Working?’ It’s more than just working. I don’t know who you hired to dose you up but sweetheart you are the _opposite_ of on _fire_. I barely even recognized you, your soul is so tightly bound.”

“You can see souls?” Sam doubletakes before he can stop himself. He had thought that souls were something more… angelic.

“Of course I can,” the trickster says, sounding nearly offended. Sam figures it’s all a ploy at this point, though. “Hellooooo, trickster? It kind of comes with the job description. Gotta see the goods before I can decide what I need to do to ‘em,” he adds when Sam doesn’t seem to be following along properly. “What? You think I just sat there coming up with creative ideas all day and just shove them at the first person who vaguely fit the profile?” Sam raises a brow and the guy huffs, sitting up a little. “You know what? Don’t answer that.”

Sam shrugs apologetically. “So, no killing each other?”

He receives a slow once over before the trickster— serious and more than a little intimidating, Sam’s new archangelic powers be damned— gives a short nod and relaxes. “Truce,” the guy says, which coincidentally is also when Wynona swings back with his pancakes. He immediately lights up when he sees the can of whipped cream she is holding, and reaches for it even as she sets the red-tinted syrup down on the table.

Wynona pulls the the can back. “Don’t make me regret this,” she says, and Sam has to stifle a laugh at the look on the trickster’s face as he's slowly handed the cream. Murders aside, the guy _was_ pretty funny.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Sam finds the obit in the next newspaper he reads— a smaller local one— and has to raise an eyebrow dubiously.

_I was not aware that humans were prone to dying from bear attacks within their communities. I believed housing structures would prevent that._

**_They aren’t. It’s pretty rare to have bears come all the way out into communities like this, they usually stay closer to the mountains._ **

_I see. Then it must be hard for the community to have lost one of their own in such a surprising way._

**_I’m not… sure about that._ **Sam looked over the obit, at the series of covert puns along with one especially terrible and obvious one that seemed to be from a typo.

_You believe this is what that being across from us did in this town._

**_Yes... Whoever this man was, he probably had some cruelty to animals and hurt someone for personal gain. That’s usually the M.O.._ **

_Ah, so this creature’s acts are morally just._ Lucifer seems pleased, but he soon quiets again. _He would most likely be unkind to us, then, should he know._

Right. If this trickster— this creature designed and existant for the sole purpose of doling out 'just desserts'— found out about Sam’s transgressions— about the fact that he is housing the _father_ of transgressions— it likely wouldn’t go over well. 

Nevermind that neither of them had intended for it, that they had been just as surprised and emotionally stripped bare by the fact that it had even been possible. It was Sam’s fault for having those thoughts at the wrong time— for having those thoughts _at all_ when the being he was apparently predestined to have a psychic connection with was around. It had been a fucked up kind of consent that he'd given, and what he had done with his life wasn’t right, wasn’t just, wasn’t _good_ in any sense of the word. The trickster’s earlier comments about Ruby had been proof of that.

Sam was surprised he was even being this lenient toward him so far. He should have just set him up for a trick right away. He should've taken one look at him and immediately thrown him in the deep end, so why hadn’t— 

It must have been curiosity about the warding, and confusion over Dean’s absence. That was all. The trickster seemed like the type who didn’t like to be confused. Always needed to have the upper hand. He seemed fairly appeased at the moment, eating food too sugary to actually be appealing, but there was no telling how he’d act once that good mood wore off.

They should leave.

“You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

Sam looks up, surprised, and has to swallow something he isn’t sure would be a whimper or a chuckle when he sees the trickster giving him a surprisingly intimidating glare from over a bite of syrup-covered pancakes. The look should probably be humorous— syrup dripping from pancake onto plate even as it is shoved into his mouth— but knowing what he’s capable of and how the act of revealing his archangel ace would most likely lead to yet _another_ supernatural creature actively trying to kill him, Sam can’t manage to find much humor.

“I was just… I found the obit for your job here, is all.” Sam wipes a hand over his face and tries to swing a joke. “Looks like someone was a little grumpy and trigger happy, huh?”

“Yeah,” the trickster drawls out. “Speaking of,” Sam winces, knowing what’s coming next. “Where’s your own grumpy? The guy seemed pretty dependent on you, too, you know. Seems to me he wouldn’t want to let you out of his sight. Is he out there somewhere being trigger happy on his own? Trying to figure out who to blame for you being away from him and hyping himself up to kill them too?”

“Uh, maybe. Probably not. Even if he was, he wouldn’t be after you or any of your friends. He’s aimed towards a more uh, _angelic_ type of monster right now.” Probably. He hoped. He didn’t really know _what_ Dean would be thinking right now.

“How do you know I’m not friends with anyone... _angelic_?” The trickster sounded so offended and distasteful at that word that Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh, yeah. Right. When you put it like that, it definitely sounds like you and heaven are real besties.”

The trickster raises a brow and gives an easy— if slightly menacing— smile, tapping his fork to his plate. “You’re right, heaven’s a bag full of dicks, but I need you to be absolutely certain that your brother won’t end up fucking things up even more while trying to get at you.”

“I can’t make Dean’s decisions for him,” Sam swallows deeply, “But I will give him a call and make sure we’re both on the same page. After I finish up in here. Is that acceptable?”

The trickster slowly spears his last bit of pancake, and sprays an extra dollop of whipped cream directly from the can onto the top of it before shoving the whole thing in his mouth. All while maintaining eye contact with Sam, who tries not to be intimidated while also trying to _look_ intimidated… even though he’s fairly certain he shouldn’t have to be.

It’s all very confusing, honestly, so Sam is more than a little relieved when the result is a careful setting down of the fork and a murmured “Acceptable” before the guy just flat out disappears.

....Taking the whipped cream can with him. **_Shit._**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam: hmm, I'm feeling a little funny. My heart is racing and I'm a little queasy and for some reason can't stop staring at this guy's face?  
> Sam: Hm....... I can't figure out why....  
> Sam: ...........  
> Sam: this must be what intimidation feels like!
> 
> Next chapter might be a bit shorter, depending on how I edit and cut things, but it'll progress plot. Maybe. Hopefully. Instead of worrying about it I'm just giving you a second chapter for the weekend.


	6. Leave the static

Dean is pacing in Chuck’s living room.

“Well I don’t know, Bobby! I don’t ask for all of their names every time they show up backing an asshole making a power play,” he snaps into his phone, pressing it tightly against his ear. Chuck jolts at the sound, shuffling papers nervously as he attempts to clean up his things. “No!” A pause. “Well maybe I can _make_ him talk!”

Chuck heads towards his kitchen, only to be blocked by one of Dean’s swinging arms as he says “Fine,” and angrily turns to pace back towards the couch. 

Chuck bites his lip, and steps into the kitchen to set things down on his one unruined table. Behind him he hears Dean sigh and say, quieter this time, “You’ll tell me if he calls you, right?”

The voice on the other end of the line presumably says something along the lines of “ _of course I will, idgit,_ ” because Dean follows up with an “Alright, bye.”

Chuck holds his breath as he turns back into the living room. Now or never. “Uh, not that I don’t like the fact that you’re here willing to kill anything that shows up while I’m cleaning,” he starts, pulling Dean’s attention away from the phone, “But I’m kinda wondering how long you’re planning to stay here?”

“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve got a good lead on where those winged assholes took my brother,” comes the curt reply.

“Uh, that’s all well and good but, uh,” Chuck wipes his palms on his jeans. “Do you have any idea how long that’ll take? I mean, it’s already been a few hours,” he hurries to add, “and you’ve already gone through all my files and manuscripts, my damn _grocery lists_ , and we haven’t been able to find anything that seems useful, so uh, do you think uh—”

“Think _what_ , Chuck?”

“Think you might maybe go for a quick drive and find a motel or something? It’s not like I’m exactly in a good position to host a guest right now,” he says, hands held partway up in placation.

Dean growls, but pockets his phone and cracks his neck.

“Alright,” he decides, “But you’re calling me if you see _anything_!” He jabs a finger in Chuck’s direction menacingly before heading off, much to Chuck’s relief.

Things hadn’t been going according to the story at all, these past few weeks. It was nerve wracking, honestly, but also a little… Exhilarating.

Now if only he’d stop getting dragged into the middle of it, things would be perfect.

  
  
  
  
  


Sam leans his forehead against the payphone box as he listens to the line ring. What had his brother been doing this whole time? Was he angry? Had he been confused? Did he jump to the wrong conclusion? The _right_ one?

So caught up in his own thoughts, he almost doesn't respond when a snappish voice finally answers. Almost gets hung up on.

Almost.

“...Dean?”

“Sam? Where are you? Are you okay? What happened to your phone, did they take it?”

Well....that answered that question.

“I’m fine,” Sam says after a moment. A full moment in which he just blinked in shock at the ease with which his brother answered. What _did_ he think had happened? Did he dare ask? But asking would suggest that _he_ didn’t know what happened, or that he was fishing for an excuse…

Did he dare….?

“Sam?” Dean asks. Obviously Sam paused for too long. “What did those winged assholes do to you? How’d you get away?”

‘Get away’ meant... what exactly? Sam thinks, gears turning in his head until— Oh. Oh his brother didn’t understand how the sigil worked. He must think an angel grabbed him and he got dragged along. He _had_ been standing pretty close to one, in his efforts to find a way out the door and away from the pulling twisting _aching_ agony of _standing next to his siblings and seeing them so twisted so angry so jealous so blank so greedy, contorting the truths into falsities and asking for things they had no business asking, not after—_

“I’m fine,” Sam repeats. “I broke my phone, maybe. I don’t know. It won’t turn on,” he lies. “I called you as soon as I found a payphone.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll come get you. Where are you?”

“I…” Sam hesitates.

“If you don’t know what state, that’s fine, I can track this payphone. It’ll just take a little longer,” Dean says, misunderstanding the reason for the pause. He seems to be misunderstanding a lot of things these past few weeks. “Do you at least know the name of the town?”

Sam does, since he actually entered the city limits on the side that has a “welcome to” sign set up. He even knows what state it is— Illinois— and that it isn’t too far a drive from Chuck’s place— by Dean standards at least. Provided his brother is even still there instead of halfway to Bobby’s. He _should_ be halfway to Bobby’s by now, but if he was this bent on keeping Sam with him… 

“Listen are you..? Are you still at Chuck’s?”

“...I’m about a mile away, why?”

It was late afternoon here, which meant it was essentially early evening for Dean. He probably was at a bar, waiting to see if he needed to grab a motel room for the night. Maybe Sam should have called him sooner. Gotten this over with so that Dean could move on. But it had seemed so easy to just keep putting it off, to say ‘after lunch,’ ‘after I’ve grabbed a motel room,’ ‘after I’ve learned more angelic sigils…’

“Has Chuck uh, has he said anything? Anything new?” Sam couldn’t keep putting this off. He needed to tell his brother...something.

“No,” Dean said, and Sam laughs a little at how put out his brother sounded. “He said he hadn’t gotten anything new, and he didn’t go into any trances or anything while I was there, just kept cleaning everything up. I looked through all his shit, too. As much as he’d let me at least,” he grumbled. “And I read everything he wrote down while I was there. All I found out is that the guy likes peanut butter a little bit too much. Seriously, his pantry’s got like five jars of it.”

Sam huffs another laugh, but sobers quickly. It was good that his brother wasn’t rejecting him but… He could feel the over-protectiveness coming through the line. Dean wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to do anything else. That was… That was bad. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was sin, but…. Sam couldn’t let them die just yet.

“Dean, I… I don’t think we should meet back up.”

“What.” Sam winces at Dean’s growl. “Sam, what happened. Where are you?”

“I’m not,” Sam starts and then pauses, licking his lips, and pressing his face into a different section of cool metal. “There’s nothing wrong, I’m fine. I got a clean break. I just think— “ He sighs. “Dean, why haven’t you left Chuck’s yet?”

“I _have_ left Chuck’s.”

“No you haven’t, you've grabbed a bar stool nearby. That’s not leaving. That’s not heading to Bobby’s after you got all the information to try to work through the lore. That’s wasting time.”

“I was waiting for _you_.”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have,” Sam laughs bitterly and stands up straight. “Dean, whatever pulled us out of that church and put us on that plane wiped all the demon blood from my system. I don’t need to detox. You saw me, not a single jitter that whole time I was with you. I’m clean, and I’m not falling off the wagon. What I did was wrong. You know it, you _knew_ it, and now I know it too. But you can’t get anything done if you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. The apocalypse has started and it’s our— it’s _my_ fault, Dean.”

“You couldn’t have known, Sam. That bitch was—” 

“Using me, I know.” Sam interrupts as his brother starts in, refusing to let himself be derailed. Lucifer presses in, clearly listening, and Sam hates himself a little for finding comfort in it. “Point is, you’re running yourself ragged trying to keep track of me instead of focusing on stopping the apocalypse.You can’t— You can’t be trying so hard to save me that you let the world go to shit. I can’t change anything that I’ve done but I can try to fix what I can... By staying out of it. You need to focus on fixing what _you_ can. By hunting down a way to stop the fighting. And you can’t focus when I’m around.”

“Sammy—”

“Shut up, Dean. You need to keep your head in the game.”

“No, I need to know that you’re safe—"

“And that’s exactly how they’ll use me against you.”

“They can’t use you against me if you’re right by my side.”

Sam sighs. His brother is so stubborn sometimes. Maybe it would be better if he went back, was complacent. Maybe this was just throwing fuel on a fire. But he needed to figure out how to protect himself first. What his intentions even _were,_ much less how to go about doing whatever it was that he intended. Maybe going back would be good ....would be easy... But he'd be found out eventually, and then he'd die. And maybe that wouldn't be so bad, either. He wouldn't have to deal with anything anymore. Wouldn't have to figure out his intentions or.....anything.

It _wouldn't_ be that easy, though. He'd get hurt before they'd let him go, and he's not sure he could stand to be hurt anymore right now. Not to mention where he'd go _after_ he died...

Lucifer pulls back a bit from where he had been sharing Sam's thoughts and Sam's eyes, and Sam remembers why he's doing this.

“Dean… Angels can hurt me just as bad when I’m next to you as when I’m far away. They’ve proven that before. It’s better if we separate and take away that temptation.”

“What, so they can capture you and hold you against me?”

Sam bangs his head on the payphone box. “Dean, I have anti-angel warding. I can't be found by angels except by accident."

"You have _what_ —"

"I know, I only just found it, but it seems to be working. I can pass it along to Bobby and get you done up whenever you swing by him." That was fine, right? They'd applied most of the sigils internally, but they should work passably well as tattoos or charms. Especially if used in conjunction with a chant and some spellwork. Maybe a hex bag? No, Dean wouldn't want a hex bag.

He was getting distracted.

"Look, just… don't come looking for me. And if you hear anything about someone holding me hostage, don't believe it. I'll do the same for you, and that way they won't have much control over either of us. I'm staying low and I'll be fine."

"Sammy—"

"I'll see you later, Dean." Sam says, both a promise and a prayer, and quickly hangs up the phone before he can regret anything any further.

Lucifer's grace is letting out a quiet hum in the back of his mind, slowly churning through a series of discordant notes. Sam closes his eyes.

**_I'm gonna head to the nearest library. Wanna see how a computer works?_ **

Lucifer doesn't say anything, just curls tighter into the side of Sam's brain.

**_Lucifer?_ **

_I could… leave._

**_What?! And go where?_ ** Sam clenches his fist and glares at the phonebook on the ledge. He's already given up everything in order to do this, he can't handle being left alone. Not after everything. **_What vessel would you use? No. We're already stuck together, might as well keep going. We can— we can take care of each other. Right?_ **

_...It might be better if I went to Heaven._

**_And get killed? No! I’ve seen how your brothers are acting! They aren’t gonna be happy with that, they’re still gonna try to create their own ‘Paradise’ and I’m not gonna stick around knowing that you died for no reason!_ **

_I am a symbol of sin, it would pain no one else._

**_Don’t say that. I won’t… I can’t believe that. I…. If you need to die to end things, I’m gonna be right there with you. If that’s what you deserve then I deserve that too._ **

_Samuel….._ Lucifer pulls backwards in their headspace, and for a moment Sam is worried he’s withdrawing completely. When he talks, it is faint. _Samuel, you did only what you were asked to do. What you thought was right. I knew what I was doing was wrong, that Father would not approve, but I was too curious and did it all anyway. My brothers would be right to punish me._

**_That doesn’t change the fact that they’ll take your death as a sign that they can do whatever they want with the rest of us. Didn’t your father want humans to be protected?_ ** He tries persuading, desperate to get the archangel back in the forefront. **_Wouldn’t he be happy if you helped us? Shouldn’t your_ ** **siblings** **_be happy if you help protect us? Even if it’s just from demons. Just for a little while. I…_ **

Sam licks his lips, hesitating on the words he wants to say. Lucifer must understand what he means, though, because one second he’s shoved as far back as he can be without shutting off the outside world completely and the next he’s right next to Sam, relaxing their clenched fingers and rolling their shoulders to loosen the tension.

_I do not want to die quite yet, either. Show me the library. I want to learn more._

The unspoken ‘while I still can’ sat heavy over both of them, but Sam sighs and accepts the olive branch for what it is.

**_Alright. I didn’t get a chance to show you a computer yet, did I? Let’s go see if there are any more weird obits that might draw a hunter._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm, this chapter is a handful of hours early because I'm not sure if I'll be able to post it in the morning before I go to work. I might not be able to post anything at all next weekend because of work, but we'll see. I still have portions for a chapter or two typed up but I need to edit them and I'd prefer to keep a bit of a buffer so that I can iron out any minor plot threads BEFORE I post them and feel committed to the details.
> 
> No need to fear, the muse is still running, I just may end up switching to updates every other weekend instead of weekly. Just until work calms down and let's me chill.
> 
> Also...... Next chapter will be a Lucifer POV.... ;)


	7. Try on Your New Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer goes for a walk. It is simultaneously the most boring and most interesting thing he's ever done.

Lucifer blinks their eyes open. The motel ceiling is roughly textured, he notices. There are seemingly random shapes and bumps patterning the surface like some flat and colorless mimicry of the human view of constellations. How strange.

He takes a breath, deeply, and lets their eyes fall to half mast as he mentally nudges against Sam's soul.

'Mentally...' How strange.

Sam does not awaken, but instead his soul just twitches slightly before returning to the slow pulse of unconsciousness. Lucifer decides to leave him be. He had seemed ...stressed…..when Lucifer fell asleep. At least, he thought that was the correct description. His heart rate and blood pressure had been fluctuating wildly the entire time Lucifer had been with him, and he did not remember that being normal for any of his father's creatures. It  _ had _ been... a while since he had interacted with any, though. He supposed some could have evolved that way since he'd been gone. Perhaps he would be able to find more information on it somewhere.

With that in mind, Lucifer decides to look at what the room included. He knew that Sam had checked them in and taken a shower, but since he'd been... 'asleep' he hadn't seen it for himself. He wants to see it for himself. He wants….. 

He places their palms down on the bed and pushes, levering their torso upright and swinging their legs over the side of the bed. Then he has to pause, staring at the pieces of cloth tangled around their legs, as their body starts sending conflicting signals. Oh. Things were sub-optimal. How ...bizarre.

He twists Grace and then their body is more hydrated. Perhaps next time he will wait and drink water, but for now, he decides, there is no one around to see anything strange. It would be fine.

However…..

He blinks a few times as information processes, then reaches for the blankets. His movements look stiff, compared to Sam's, so it is good that he is practicing now. No one is around to see anything strange, but if Sam allows him use of their body in the future then he should learn how to move smoothly.

It takes a few moments, but he feels their mouth stretch as he frees himself and finishes standing. Now for the room.

It is cleaner than the field they woke up in yesterday. A thin layer of grime lays in corners and under furniture, but the scent on the blankets and emanating from the surface of the tables seems similar to what the waitress had used to wipe down the tables at the restaurant the day before. Freshly cleaned then, even if he can see the age in the thinness of the sheets and uneven wear of the table. It didn't seem to fit quite into the mental image he has of a 'motel' as it seemed too…. Nice. It was obviously cared for. How…..different.

There is a box on one of the tables near a wall. A 'television.' It should have a way of controlling it, like the radio, but doesn't appear to have any buttons or knobs. Confused, he looks around. On the bedside table there is a small grey rectangle with colorful buttons that seems familiar. With a flash of understanding he picks up the 'remote' and aims it at the television before pressing the large red button near the top. A message is sent, the screen turns on, and a woman's voice starts up mid-sentence.

It is a television show.

Lucifer tilts their head as he settles back down onto the bed.

  
  
  


A few hours later, the clock in the room now reads "7:44AM" and Lucifer has filtered his way through six more television shows. He can tell that this is a performance, a falsity, but it obviously was created to entertain. Each different 'channel' shows something different, each teaching him something different. Hopefully between this and Sam's proffered knowledge he can explore even more.

Sam is still not awake, but now Lucifer is curious about what is outside their small room. He could leave, he muses. It is not as if anyone here truly knows them. If he acts strangely then he is just one more stranger passing through.

Perhaps this is a chance to practice acting human. Sam's thoughts and memories show that angels often seem ...unnatural in their actions. They move stiffly when they are unused to their vessels. If he practices now, then perhaps he can be awake in the future without letting anyone else know of his existence. Perhaps Sam will let him explore, provided he continues pretending he isn’t there. Provided everyone thinks that he is Sam.

He can be Sam. Of course he can. Sam is tired and unnerved by his continued existence, just like he is. They aren’t so different. Once his curiosity is under control, they shouldn’t be too different at all. Even before then, in that car with Sam’s brother, his curiosity hadn’t gotten much attention while it was under the guise of Sam’s fidgeting.

Though, thinking of it now, Lucifer feels a little but of…..regret…..for his curiosity at that point. Sam had seemed tired, but he had stayed awake to continue minimizing Lucifer’s fallout. Maybe if he doesn't have to worry about Lucifer, if he doesn’t have to be in control all of the time, Sam will be able to rest...

  
  
  


The diner looks nearly the same twenty four hours later, though thankfully the waitress is someone different. If Wynona was there she would have noticed something wrong. Probably. Maybe. Not if he's successful. He walked all the way here in order to practice moving, after doing multiple laps in the motel room and moving his arms in front of the bathroom mirror until he felt like his actions were smooth and his coordination was accurate.

Regardless, Lucifer is relieved to find that he already knows the social interaction required to get seated.

"Do you want to sit at a table or the bar?" 

"Bar," he decides, opting for something different. He smiles at the woman wearing a tag reading "Rachel." A smile means you smile back. That's what all the 'nice' people did in dramas. Refraining from smiling back resulted in less favorable interactions. Smiling was good. That’s why he practiced before he left.

"Can I get any drinks started for you," she asks as she sets a menu down on the counter in front of one of the bar stools.

"A glass of water," he says, thinking of the dizziness from this morning. If he sees something else to try on the menu then he will request the item then, and see if the waitress seems offended that he did not ask at the initial prompting. 

"I'll get that right out to you," is what she says and he thanks her. That's polite. Most likely. It seemed right. He's panicking, he realizes. He couldn't afford to ruin things so quickly, he'd barely gotten a chance to breathe. Actually breathe, in a vessel, on Earth, with all the earthly senses he’d been missing for so long.

The waitress just walks away though, seemingly unconcerned, and their body's heart rate slows back down. Oh. How strange. He hasn't realized that his own emotions would affect the vessel as well.

Speaking of, Sam grumbles a little at the internal noise. Lucifer brushes up against his soul gently, calming him, and he falls back into slumber again. It makes him feel a little guilty, sending Sam back to sleep instead of allowing him to wake up because of all the interruptions, to let him take control of their body again. But... He needs the sleep. He needs it…

Lucifer sighs and opens the menu, letting his eyes trail across all the names and descriptions presented before him. He can understand some of the descriptions just fine; cheese on beef with leaves and roots. Others are...challenging. ‘Hollandaise sauce’ is…. Well he understands what a sauce is at least.

Sam had purchased an omelette the day before, with mushrooms and ‘caramelized onions,’ though Lucifer had gotten the impression that the word ‘caramel’ often meant something very different. Someone across the way had a ‘tri tip dip,’ though he wasn’t certain what three tips were used in it or why dipping was necessary when other dishes seemed to have the sauce already poured on. Sam had promised that they could get a ‘dip’ of some kind for a different meal, so perhaps he should try something different and leave that option for later

Besides, the menu proclaimed that "breakfast" was "served all day" so perhaps that meant other meals were not. It is morning, so this is breakfast time. To be safe, he should order breakfast. Right. The panel on the left.

Drinks were in their own section, though, not sorted out by meal times…. They were at the end, so perhaps this meant they were separate from the other sections and available all the time, just as breakfast was. They were under 'dessert' though, which was meant to come _after_ dinner. Yet Sam and that creature from yesterday had both ordered special drinks with no qualms, so that seemed to indicate they would also be available for him now. Or perhaps there was a specific order that they were placed that would tell him the rules. Hopefully it was not something social, something that was simply known and understood, because he didn't know what he would say if his waitress—

“Okay, here's that water for you. Have you decided on anything or do you need more time?” The waitress is here, setting down a glass of water with ice and a single lemon slice. His heart rate rises again-- _ he’d only just gotten that calm _ — and Sam starts stirring again—  _ but he needs his sleep, he needs to sleep, just— _ pick something. Something for breakfast, that is different than the day before. Anything is fine as long as it is from the "breakfast" panel of the menu, but if he'd seen the food before then he'd know how to eat it without waking Sam, there had to be  _ something _ he could say, there is— there is— Right.

“A stack of pancakes. With whipped cream and strawberry syrup.”

That should be fine. The trickster had ordered that the day before and it had been fine. Unless it had been fine  _ because _ he was a trickster, and he had used a trick in order to get what he wanted. Tricksters could redefine reality to an extent, after all. But no— Sam had interacted with the waitress over that meal also, which most likely meant that— 

“Alright, anything else to drink? Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” he says. Polite. Manners. That was good. This is fine. And for something to do while he waits— “And I would appreciate it if you have any newspapers I could read while I wait.”

“Sure thing,” she says, and scribbles a few things down before smiling and walking away.

He lets out an internal sigh of relief. Listening to the beat of their heart as it slows, he starts reviewing the warding he has placed internally, his Grace tracking along each loop and turn to make certain it is still effective. It is perhaps unnecessary, he would probably notice if any section broke. Yet he still finds himself tracing the lines. Over and over, up and across then down. Around and around and around and—

"Here you are," the waitress says with a smile, setting down a mug and a coffee pot to the side before placing a few newspapers in front of him. She follows up with moving the mug closer and filling it with coffee. "Sugar is to your left, would you like me to bring some creamer?"

"No, this is perfect," he says. And it is. He has food and entertainment and appears to be passing completely 'under the radar.' To his surprise, he finds the corners of his lips pulling up without his input. He is…. Happy. If only momentarily.

The newspapers prove interesting; a view into a world he had not been able to interact with for millennia. It is...different. Than he had expected. The front pages of the larger state and county newspapers are full of angry words and harsh criticisms. But the local pages have stories on community events. Memorials. Small crimes. Weddings.

Even after his food arrives, he continues paging through the stories. Lucifer has regretted many things over the past years, but right now he find himself regretting— 

“Wow, never expected to see  _ you _ sugar rushing.”

Lucifer jolts, instincts torn between freezing and whipping around to look at the body that is suddenly sitting in the stool next to his, setting a can of whipped cream on the counter, familar-unfamiliar power emanating off them in waves. Slowly, trying to be smooth and not stiff, he turns their head slightly to give the trickster a once over.

"Well, I saw you eating them yesterday and decided to try them myself. You seemed to enjoy them. I wanted to see how good they are." Nervously he wonders if that's some social taboo he has yet to discover. Humans seemed to be communal, so the sharing of food would logically be seen as a positive. The way that this trickster is eyeing him, though…. Perhaps these creatures are different than humans.

It is only their second meeting, but Lucifer finds himself wishing he could just kill the creature and be done with it all. Sam would be upset, but if he moves fast the creature wouldn’t see it coming. Probably. He could get this being removed from the equation and go back to enjoying himself. It would be easy to change a few human memories here and there. Probably.

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Lucifer says instead. He is...being good.

“I didn’t expect you to stick around,” the trickster replies smoothly.

“I would think,” Lucifer decides, turning back to his plate and cutting another bite of pancake, “that  _ I _ would have more reason to stick around here than you do. Considering I am a human without friends or easy transport who is trying to stay under the radar.” Carefully, so carefully, Lucifer chooses his words and forms them slowly, trying to make them sound like his own— like  _ Sam’s _ — instead of fragments of quotations and turns of phrase he hopes he understands. “As a human like that, seems to me staying in one place until the dust settles is a much better option than running around killing things. I wonder what your excuse is, for staying in a town with a known hunter.”

“I don’t like to leave business unfinished.”

Lucifer ponders this for a moment. “I sure hope this ‘unfinished business’ doesn’t include me. I think I’m all set on bad luck for a few days.”

The trickster eyes him strangely. "Honestly this prodding doesn't suit you. I liked it better when you were straightforwardly asking questions and insisting on being a pain in my ass."

Lucifer freezes minutely. Questions. Sam asked questions. Right. Right. He isn't afraid of being caught acting strangely, just confidently asked questions. He can do that, he can— 

He shovels the last few bites of his meal into their mouth and swallows.

“Well in that case—”

The ringing of a phone cuts him off, and as their arm jolts he realizes that it is Sam’s phone, lit up as he’d turned it on to play with earlier that morning. The sound of it now pushes at Sam’s consciousness due to an instinct learned from years of waking to the sound of it’s ring and Lucifer finds himself guiding the arm to move a bit more smoothly as it fumbles in their coat pocket.

His soul is a little bleary, but Lucifer pulls back slightly in order to let Sam take more control, keeping control over their vocal chords and repeating what Sam intends to say as they open the phone together and accept the call. It wouldn’t do to have the trickster realize that the mumbling was from more than just surprise, after all.

“Yeah, hello? Cas?" Lucifer pulls back more and lets Sam take over completely as they listen to the voice on the other side of the line. "How are you alive?"

Lucifer huddles in on himself. Of course this went badly, he never should have come out here.  _ Sam…..I’m sorry, I just wanted a walk and now you’re being thrown right in the middle of things.  _

**_Uh, no, no. It’s fine…_ ** Sam pushes a hand down his face and rifles through his last memories, trying not to stiffen as he becomes aware of the…. creature….. that is currently sitting in the seat next to him and staring, one eyebrow raised.

“Uh, look, Cas,” he says, a little distractedly, “I’m sorry but I’m not understanding the issue here. I mean,” he cuts the angel off when he hears him start in again on ‘imminent needs’ and ‘crucial details.’ “It's great that you're alive. Fantastic, really. However it happened. But, uh, you said you’ve warded Dean up now, right? And you can’t find me still, which means that my wards are holding too, so that’s good right?”

“ _ If you would just let me know your current location, I can ensure that whatever you did will continue to hold.” _

“Uh, no,” Sam lets out a small depreciative laugh, “That’s not going to happen. They’ll be fine.” He couldn’t let Cas come and try to look at his warding— best case he wouldn’t be able to see anything and then Sam would have to come up with some explanation to get both an angel  _ and _ a trickster off his ass about it. He couldn't very well say he'd found wards to keep angels at bay in a  _ book _ of all things. Not one written in English, or some other translatable language.

Worst case…. Worst case he’d realize the truth. And decide to fight. In front of a trickster. Who could and would put them back in a time loop and figure out a creative way to make everyone involved suffer for the sins of the universe.

“ _ If you will not see your brother then I will not bring you back with me, but at least let me see the results of the Cage’s openi— _ ”

“I said I’m  _ fine _ , Cas,” Sam snaps, “I don’t need you checking in or babysitting me. If you can’t find me then good, no one else can either, so just stick with Dean whenever possible and keep me out of this.”

" _ Sam— " _

"Go to Bobby's, alright? Just go to Bobby's and I'm sure Dean'll meet you there eventually. Maybe Bobby can get started on researching something in the meantime. If you need me,  _ he _ can call me. Good bye, Cas." He snaps his phone shut and glares at it for a moment. The angel was pushy and Sam wasn't sure how much to trust him after all he'd done, but Dean likes him so that's one issue dealt with for now. Hopefully.

Now for the other one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmm not entirely certain I like how this turned out stylistically. Lucifer makes things unnecessarily difficult.... But the editing added another 500 words, so! Congrats on the longer chapter. I will continue to update every other weekend for now, but part of that is because the chapters should be getting slightly longer from now on. 
> 
> Also....may I just beat the canon timeline with a stick? I'm juggling motivations and actions for like five characters I haven't even written in yet, what even is this..... (I say as I keep telling myself to just throw all canon actions out the window completely) *grumbles*


	8. Apsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam talks to the trickster. Then he talks to the devil. There's a joke in there somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: oops! I somehow accidentally posted the old mobile-typed version of this chapter instead of my autocorrect-free one. If some words in a sentence seem to be misspellings of a better fitting word/if something is mistyped still, please let me know. I'm fairly certain it only affected the two sections I edited last but I'm obviously not immune to mistakes lol

The trickster is still staring at him, one eyebrow raised and a hand propping up his face. Slowly, as if checking for his reaction, the guy purses his lips and lets out a low whistle.

Sam’s composure breaks. “Okay, seriously, what is it that you want here? I’ve tried being nice, but that just seemed to rile you up, and I don’t think you actually want to kill me right now but if you do could you please just get it over with?” He holds eye contact for a moment longer before closing his eyes and letting out a breath, working harder than he expected to keep it from becoming a whine. This was a lot to wake up to.

A part of him wants to yell at Lucifer right now, to tell him in no uncertain terms that taking his body out for a joyride was unacceptable. Except… well it wasn't really a joyride, now was it? He went out and got breakfast. Wasn't really _his_ fault the trickster popped up. And if the guy hadn't been there, if Cas hadn't called or hadn't called in the middle of a difficult conversation, if Sam had just woken up slowly to a full stomach and a newspaper...

_We could leave. I can take us out of here._

Lucifer is pulsating. Two notes, one higher and one lower, making a quick and steady rhythm. He seems happier now, despite the tension, which leads him to realize that Lucifer had been a fuzzy chaotic mess when he had first woken up. He had been anxious. That was what Lucifer's anxiety felt like, and it was gone now that Sam was awake, now that Sam was _in charge._ His grace feels welcoming.

Sam leans into it, debates whether running right now would really be that bad. They haven’t tried flying yet, but they discussed it. It should be second nature to just let Lucifer spread his wings, break the weak ‘notice-me-nots’ that appeared around their section of the bar shortly after the trickster did, and just flee. Go somewhere else, since this conversation obviously wasn’t getting anywhere. He’d wanted to get some _quiet,_ dammit.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

Sam startles into breathing. Right, no flying. It would defeat the purpose of trying _not_ to die and get hunted.

“I’m curious about you. You aren’t what I expected. Any of the times I’ve met you. It almost makes me wonder...” The trickster seems strangely serious, and appears to be debating something before his cocky charade— **_charade? Wait, what_ ** _—_ slides back into place and he continues with a smirk. “How badly are you gonna fuck shit up next time?"

Sam feels his blood pressure rising, clouding his judgement yet again. “Excuse me?” He didn't— He hadn't meant to— Oh fuck it. “You know what? No. I’m not falling for that. Look, this will all be _fine_. Cas will look after my brother. He'll keep him on track and I'll check in occasionally so he won’t go running off chasing me down."

"And who's gonna look after _you_?" The trickster looks at him, that haughty smile still on his face as he glances him over like some pet that needs to be kept alive despite the detriments. It rubs Sam the wrong way and he can feel Lucifer buzzing readily beneath his skin.

"I'll be fine on my own, this separation was _my_ idea, remember?"

"Big words from someone who used his _last_ separation to start picking at the apocalypse."

"That wasn't my choice, okay?" Sam snaps, keeping his voice low. "It wasn't _my_ choice to have Dean die, it wasn't _my_ choice that gave me powers, and yeah I probably should have known better than to try to use them but I was _trying_ to do something good to make up for the fact that my entire family literally _died_ for me, alright?"

"Oh, boohoo, mister Hot Shot. People die all the time, fall victim to demon deals practically every day, you don’t see _their_ relatives getting addicted to one of the most dangerous substances possible for a human to consume without exploding.”

“Well how the fuck was I supposed to know that, huh," he bites out, finally turning in his chair to face the creature head on. "We literally had no idea what that was going to do to me, no human had ever drank it and then left _records_ behind or anything. Besides, plenty of people go out for revenge, in fact _you_ do," Sam says, seeing a hole and poking at it. " _You_ go out and get revenge. _Literally_ for complete strangers. And animals. Are you seriously telling me none of that has ever gone wrong?”

The trickster glares at him so hotly that for a moment Sam is afraid he’d finally decide to take action. That after all this, after all the signs he’d seen that he was more interesting alive than he was dead, he’d finally gotten the being angry enough to change his mind.

Instead the guy just bites out, as if it’s some obvious reason that simultaneously proves Sam’s incompetence and also absolves any perceived crimes. “I’m. Not. Human.”

Lucifer flinches and well that....that just makes Sam pissed off. “What, so that makes it better? I doubt I am either, at this point!” Lucifer pulls even farther back but Sam barely even notices past his temper. “When do _I_ get this non-human get out of jail free card? Does it come with free pancakes?”

“Oh, you just shut your mouth, you impudent asshole,” the trickster says, vehement but carefully controlling his volume so as not to break his light enchantments. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, don’t you dare even _try_ to talk to me about morals after everything you and your family have done over the years.”

“ _You—_ ” Sam looks away and tries to control his breathing, reign his emotions in. This is such a bad idea. He really shouldn't be snapping right now but honestly this was one of the last things he'd wanted to deal with. 

"Look," he tries again, lips curling upward as he forces himself to stay polite. "I know I don't have the best track record but I'm done with all of that stuff, okay? I'm going to keep my head down and just keep moving. Maybe do a few hunts if I run across them but mostly just try to search out any books that might be useful. Is that alright with you or do you need to assign me a babysitter?”

The trickster looks at him for a moment, body inhumanly still, before his lips start tilting and a smile spreads across his face. “You know,” he pauses to unwrap a candy bar, “That’s not a bad idea.”

Dread starts pooling in Sam’s stomach and the bitter smile he’d been wearing as he cracked the joke quickly falls. Shit.

“I didn’t lie before, when I said that I like you guys. You and your brother are amusing. Provided you ignore the stabbings and beheadings and such,” he continues, in a twisted parody of what Sam had thought the night before. "Normally, I'd give you a pat on the back and, while doing so, slap an itty-bitty tracker onto your soul, but with all your warding I'm just not sure that's gonna work. So, out of the goodness of my heart, I'm gonna offer you a deal."

They watch in curiosity as the trickster flicks his fingers and produces a business card. They take it, hesitant but unable to resist, and find it blank except for a phone number. 

“You—” the guy prods solidly at their chest, as if there could possibly be any question as to who he was referring, “— are going to take this card, put that number in your phone, and keep the physical copy tucked into whatever little hunting kit or money clip or _whatever_ you have that will always stay near your physical little mortal body while you run away from all your problems.”

Sam bites his tongue, affronted.

“And then _I_ —” the trickster jabs his own chest “—am going to use this card and that phone number to keep an eye on you.”

“In exchange for, let me guess, not killing me?” Sam raises an eyebrow. Then lowers it again a moment later as he grimaces. “Well, it’s certainly not the worst option. Is it sad to say that the only good things that have happened this past week have been people saying they’ve decided not to kill me after all?”

“Uh, yeah, kiddo,” the trickster says as he pushes himself away from the counter and stands as if preparing to leave. “That’s sad. Also a symptom of the apocalypse. You should probably try to get used to it. Unless you’d like me to mix it up by saying I’ve decided that killing you seems like a better idea…?”

“Uh, no. No that’s alright. Heard that one a lot, honestly. But uh,” Sam licks his lips as he stares at the mock business card. **_Should I…?_ **

Lucifer pauses a moment before sending affirmation. _If you think it would be good, I agree._

“If you’re going to check in on me,” Sam starts. “Does that mean that you don’t want the apocalypse to happen?”

“Kid, nobody wants the apocalypse to happen. No one in their right mind, at least.”

“So will you help stop it? There’s gotta be a way, right? I mean you’re pretty powerful, aren’t you? Couldn’t you just—”

“Whoah, whoah, whoah there!” The trickster holds up his hands and lets out a chuckle. “You’re making an awful lot of assumptions now, and while your ass may be nice I certainly don’t want to jump to any conclusions. First off you’re assuming that I _want_ to help, and don’t get me wrong, I do, but….”

“But?” Sam deflates at the trickster’s fake smile. This was a silly idea after all.

“I’m really not sure there’s much anyone can do at this point. The angels I’ve dealt with before have all been real stubborn and single minded sons of bitches; I doubt anything’s gonna keep these two prizefighters away from each other for long.”

“Then why are you even bothering to try to keep an eye on me?”

“Because if anything _can_ stop it, or if anything starts to happen, you’re gonna be at the center of it all. And I like to keep my information up to date. Call it professional pride, if you will.”

Professional pride? For a trickster? Well searching out the truth was necessary for tricks, he supposed. But wouldn't that only be between the trickster himself and his specific victims? Maybe monsters actually talked to each other, sought out information from reliable sources. If tricksters really could see a human's soul like this one claimed, then they _would_ end up being very suitable information brokers. About human things, mostly, but if they tended to trade...

“Then if you find some way to stop it, you’ll tell me?” Sam latches on to the idea like a dog to a bone. Maybe it wasn’t futile after all. “You’ll need me?”

“Don’t sound so excited,” the asshole huffs. “I might need you to die, for goodness sake. Literally, you know. For the sake of all things good? Or at least all things only morally complicated.”

As if Sam hadn’t realized that anyway. As if he wasn’t going to die at the end no matter what. “Yeah, I get that. I’ll do whatever’s necessary,” they say, Lucifer pulsing and rising forward to speak with him. “I’ll do anything, as long as it will fix things and keep my brother alive.”

“Uh. Right. Cause that’s not creepy as all hells.” The trickster eyes him over dubiously but seems to decide to at least pretend to take it at face value. “Well, I’ll be seeing you around," he says, slapping Sam on the back a bit harder than was probably friendly. "I’ll let you know if I need to kill you or whatever.”

"Do you at least have a name?" Sam asks, wondering if he can find info on the guy if he gets a better lead.

"Names have power, kiddo. I'm not stupid. Maybe in time you'll figure it out," he says with a shrug before leaving with his usual snap.

Ugh. 

**_...He slapped a tracker on my jacket just then, didn't he._ **

_…….Yes._

**_Well I guess that could have gone worse._ **

_Yet it also could have gone better._

**_Ugh._** Sam pushes a hand down his face and turns back towards the counter. **_This_** ** _puts a damper on things… I don’t think we should chance flying while this tracker is still active. I don’t know if it lets him sense where we are all the time or just when he pays attention to it._**

_So we will need to take human transportation. Or at least pretend to. Perhaps a short jump from one place to another closeby…. If you are comfortable with that._

Sam pauses, **_About that…_ **

_You are upset that I left the hotel room this morning,_ Lucifer states, dimming but not sounding surprised.

**_I… I’m not sure exactly. I feel like I should be. But I don’t want to keep you locked up. Not like—_ **

_Humans seem to be full of contradictions,_ Lucifer interrupts. _And I am beginning to think I am full of them as well._

**_Uh…_ **

_I would like to have freedom, but I know that having it while still here will mean that you are the one locked up instead. I… While I do not understand humans I… am beginning to believe that I understand you. I will not take control again if you do not want me to. Or at least, I will try not to. There are some things that may cause me to react on… ‘instinct.’_

Sam stifles a laugh at the distaste that practically radiates off at that statement. It makes sense that the archangel wouldn’t have had much chance to use a physical vessel; he’s probably as annoyed and confused by the sensations and vocabulary as a crying newborn. **_Yeah, I can understand that. For now I guess just tell me about what you do when I am asleep? And we can…._ ** **try** **_… having me awake while you take control. I can’t make any promises, but… I mean as long as you aren’t taking control while we’re on a hunt I don’t see how it could hurt. And we could build up to that,_** he adds, ** _if you want to try hunting._**

_….That may be interesting to try, once I’ve mastered more common movements. I am not certain, though. I would like to see hunting ‘in person’ first, instead of just in memory._

**_That’s reasonable. Maybe—_ **

“Alright, would you like anything else today, or are you ready for your check?’”

Sam flushes, suddenly realizing he’s been staring into his coffee mug without moving for the past couple minutes while the notice-me-not charms faded off. The waitress smiles at him, and lifts up a coffee pot.

“I could give you another refill if you’d like,” she offers, though the half-empty pot is lacking steam and doesn’t look particularly appealing.

“No, I think I’m good, thanks,” Sam says, “The check would be nice.”

“Of course. I’ll be right back then.” With another smile she heads off to check on the only other table in the section and Sam lets out a sigh.

_I could try warming that up for you,_ Lucifer mentions, then clarifies. _The coffee. It is cold and maybe we could use my grace to warm it back up. As practice._

Sam mentally raises an eyebrow and loosens his hold on his body slightly, leaving it open for Lucifer to act. The archangel pushes a small thread of…. Something…. Of _grace_ ….forward. His hands start tingling with the sensation of it and he feels it….twist slightly. Then the ceramic starts radiating heat and Lucifer quickly pulls back.

_There. It should be enjoyable again_.

Sam raises the mug to his lips and takes a sip. The taste is still too bitter, it obviously had sat there for too long, but the warmth feels good. Wonderful even. And Lucifer is buzzing as if anxious, so Sam pushes that warm feeling towards him as well.

**_Thank you._ **

_You are welcome._

Lucifer seems pleased with that exchange of words, for some reason, and Sam has to push back at the laugh that starts bubbling up at the realization that the devil is excited to learn good human manners. A glance upwards shows the waitress coming back his direction holding a black receipt holder, so he gulps back the last of his coffee and pulls out his wallet. A few minutes of an absolutely captivated Lucifer later, he’s zipping his jacket up as he heads out the door.

**_Alright, so. No flying long distances. But we can try going from one side of the motel room to the other? We should probably leave town soon, though. I don’t want to be the stranger sticking around suspiciously for too long._ **

_Yes, that should work. It might be tiring, but if we start now then you can rest a bit before leaving. If you would like….we could also leave the jacket here in town,perhaps. That would ‘accidentally’ get rid of the tracking spell. Though the card he gave you might still transfer information._

**_I like this jacket, though… Maybe I should purposefully go run into a witch just to have an excuse to do a cleansing ritual. Leave the business card away from me to show good intentions and just play dumb about the one in my clothes. I could even call him up after, let him know what happened and ask him to be considerate if anything the witch did interfered with his work._ **

_Show good intentions….yes…._

Lucifer trails off and for a while Sam soaks in the quiet. It is nice to have someone to talk to, to reason with, but the peace is welcome after the heavy conversations he woke up to. The town itself is fairly quiet, with low traffic and few people out and about. It makes it easy to let his mind wander as he makes his way towards the hotel.

**_About your brother…._ ** He finally says as he fishes the key for the room out of his pocket. **_That is, Michael…. Do you really want to keep him alive? No matter the cost?_ **

_Yes, I…. I was always close to Michael. He is my older brother and despite everything….. He never wronged me._

Sam pauses in unlocking the door, then slowly continues and pushes it open. Stories and lore could be wrong. He knew this, had read plenty of old hunter journals that outlined the many failed methods that teams had tried to use on rarer creatures. But even so, one would think that the other angels at least would have had the right idea about the nature of their most powerful siblings’ relationship. **_You have so many siblings, though. I guess Michael was the one you were closest to, but sti—_ **

_No._

**_...what?_ **

_No, Michael was not the sibling I was closest to._

**_Wait, what? But from everything I've heard that's—_ **

_Although maybe 'sibling' would be the wrong word for it. Your human language is so limiting for describing aspects of creation,_ Lucifer states, clear as ever.

**_I— I'm confused._ ** Sam sits down on the bed, staring at his clasped hands and settling in for a long conversation. Flying could wait, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate while he was still wondering about this. **_If not Michael, then who would you be closest to? It's Michael that you're supposed to have this big fight with….Isn't it?_ **

_It is. Michael and I were always— No, that’s not right…. We often— That is, the five of us were always close but when time started Michael and had already gotten into the habit of certain...behaviours._ Lucifer hummed a dual tone that made Sam’s hair stand on end. _Perhaps I should start at the beginning. Before I was made, before I started fighting. Just…. Before._

**_O….kay..?_ **

_Yes._ Lucifer seemed to have reached some sort of decision and Sam couldn’t bring himself to stop him. He was curious, after all, and now was as good a time as any to learn more. _I can tell you what I know about my father and my siblings. I do not know if I will be able to use words to describe things clearly, but at least it will be the best approximation… Starting…. Starting at the beginning…._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhh sorry this is mostly talking without anything actually happening past the halfway mark. Next chapter will be essentially the exact opposite, unless I decide to do something wild.


	9. In Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer tells a story, then resolves to never tell one again. He's kind of terrible at it. Sam is convinced.

_ Father existed. _

_ Father existed by Himself, alone in the universe, and He did not like this. _

_ He was alone, but He could see other possibilities. He could see other universes, fringing on this one, where other existences were side by side. They each acted through their own will in individual acts of creation. They had companionship. They had each other. _

_ He wanted this. But He could not reach them. He tried and He tried, but He could not push himself from this universe into theirs. He screamed and He rebelled, but none of them seemed to even notice this universe, tucked away and empty. _

_ They did not see him scratching at the edges of His confinement, they did not see His bright explosions. They moved and they talked and He could hear their voices, but they were muffled. They would not become His friends. _

_ So He decided He would make His own. _

_ Father did not have companions, but He understood how to create. The universe around Him was thriving and empty and stagnant and full and rushing and spinning, all at once. He knew how to catch tendrils and mold them into new shapes. How to push them into new directions. Nearly every movement caused another change, yet the only thoughts He could sense were His own. So He reached out into the universe and He pulled. _

_ He pulled and pulled and a piece broke off, spinning in on itself and becoming separate from what was Him and what was Universe. It sat next to Him, shimmering and rolling inwards again and again and He delighted as He watched it glow. _

_ Excited, He immediately began pulling again. Two would be good, He decided. Two friends or family members with which to share His existence. Together they would be three, and He decided that this would be good and fortunate. _

_ But this second spark of matter was harder to grasp than the first. It twisted from His grasp, spinning away instead of in, shimmering and sparking and pushing against Him just as often as it came towards Him. He fought and He fought and He thought He had grasped it, only to realize it had slipped through. _

_ Alarmed, he turned to the first spark, fearing it would be gone, having slipped away as well once He stopped paying attention to it. Yet it still sat where He had left it, quietly pulsing with creation but having changed little since He paid attention last. _

_ Fears qualmed, He reached for the second spark again, ready to resume His efforts. Only this time the writhing mass simply slid into His open arms, seemingly tired of their game, and it was the work of a moment to pinch the last remaining tendril of universe and separate the spark fully. _

_ It was only then that He realized He had made a mistake. The pieces were nearly as large as Himself, and as much as He pinched and prodded they would not shape themselves the way He wanted. His power was not enough to condense their existence into sentience, and for many moments He despaired. _

_ He stared at the two separate pieces for a long while, hoping that perhaps with time they would condense themselves, as He had. But as He waited He thought, and as He thought He came to an idea. If the pieces were smaller they would be easier for Him to work with, so He began prodding at the portions of creation yet again, hoping to find a place to grab hold. _

_ He prodded and He pushed and He grasped the first piece in both hands and ripped and ripped until what had been one became two. The pieces were uneven, but it did not matter. He moved quickly to the second of the original portions, eager to create but refusing to chance another existence coming into being that would be capable of crushing the small creatures he would soon make. He had left the first piece alone for a while and it had not reformed, but this second piece was wily and He was not certain it would remain in the same state for long. He had seen how the beings in the other universes fought amongst themselves, hurt each other, and He did not want to chance it. Not when he had gotten this far into making something that was His. _

_ So He grasped the second piece and pulled and pulled, and nearly lost his grip due to it's dancing and writhing, but in time He had split that one as well. It was harsh and uneven, with one piece smaller, its energy more contained than it's larger half, but finally he was left with four. _

_ He started with the larger pieces first. The calm one, so that He could learn what to do. As he poked and twisted it did not fight back, more than willing to let Him mold it. _

_ Then the energetic mass as second, now that he’d determined the easiest way to shape them into what He wanted. He wasn’t going to leave such a large chaotic spark’s shape up to chance. _

_ Third was the lesser portion of the calm one, as He did not want it waiting forever and it had already started to drift away. Then the fourth as the last, shaped carefully despite its continued movements, mindful of the way it did not want to leave the other young existences alone. _

_ That is how He created the First Four, or at least how He tells it. _

_ Michael, the first-born. Raphael, his right hand despite being third, for they shared their origin in the same fragment of Universe. _

_ I was second. After much debate, Father named me Samael. _

_ And my other half was named Gabriel. _

  
  
  
  


**_Samael? I didn’t realize— I mean that makes sense, with my name being— I mean,... Do you want me to call you that?_ **

_ No!  _ Lucifer’s response is fervent and Sam is a bit taken aback. _ This is my name now. I chose it. Regardless of what it means to others now, this name is  _ mine _ and I am not giving it up. _

**_That’s...understandable,_ ** Sam says, then wisely decides to change the subject.  **_So what you meant before, when you said you weren’t closest to Michael, was that you’re closest to Gabriel?_ **

_ Of course. He is the other half of my origin. Our purposes were similar in many ways. _

**_Because you are part of the same spark. That’s why you said you aren’t ‘brothers,’ since that implies you were made from different pieces. I mean, you_ ** **were** **_, but also your_ ** **base** **_was— Ugh._ ** Sam huffs as Lucifer shudders in what's probably an angelic chuckle.  **_Honestly this is just reminding me of that tale about soulmates. Splitting apart a four limbed beast so that the two halves live separately?_ **

_ And only feel complete when they are together…. Yes. I know that tale. It is possible that this arose from the same concept. It was not uncommon for Father to break off large chunks of creation and then split them up slightly later. It is...easier to work that way sometimes. I would not be surprised if all creators used this method at least once. _

**_Creators?_ **

_ Yes, there are many beings who create. I can create things as well. Though the way the world is now, doing so would most likely draw attention. Modifying things is easier. _

**_Oh! You mean how angels can change things, can hurt humans without even touching them. Or how some creatures I’ve run into before could change nature, make things bloom when they should die or make illusions or new objects._ **

_ Yes, exactly. It has been a long time since I created anything, but if you’d like I could teach you. Something small, things that are replicas of things that already exist. Nothing big or new or living. _

**_I….. Could I…. I mean, you’re acting like it’s possible for me to do that._ **

**_Lucifer, I— I’m human. I'm not like you. Even with the demon blood I was never able to make something out of nothing, all of us ‘children’ just…. Manipulated things that were already there. Electricity, objects, strength. Or thought waves or whatever. And I'm not drinking blood anymore, I can't do things like that now. Right?_ **

**_…..Lucifer?_ **

  
  


Lucifer's Grace begins moving again, but the movements seem….disjointed. It wasn't until this moment that Sam realizes that in the past the fluctuations had always been smooth and regulated. No matter the speed, the rings and spires he could see while face-to-face had never left their usual spacings. Yet now even without looking he could feel some pieces moving faster inside him, sprinting then freezing until the sluggish remains caught up like glaciers carving through mountain. Stopping and starting in quick bursts, the water melting and pooling until it finally rose high enough to overflow.

  
  


_ That is…. This was my fault. You are human….  _ were _ human… Yet you saved me from immense pain…. I cannot repay you for that. _

**_I— Were?_ **

_ I am an archangel. You were an empty human vessel. Not empty…. But human. We are different, and yet the fact that you are housing me cannot be denied. Even past that I…..  _

Lucifer is quiet for a moment and concern starts to inch into Sam’s thoughts. He can’t sense anything malicious or twisty coming from his headmate, but just because Lucifer thinks it is straightforward and normal doesn’t mean that it actually would be. The trickster’s thought process is proof enough of that.

_ The warding…. It was done by manipulating my own power inside your body. As soon as you said yes and I— I am sorry. Everything leaves 'footprints' behind, even me. Even if I leave you now I am unsure if you would be completely free of all traces of my Grace. It is a part of you now, you can use it just as much as I can. _

_ As for all the things that were done to you in my name….  _ This silence is longer but Sam can’t bring himself to interrupt, fully aware of what he had been drinking just a few nights before.  _ I do not know what term is best to describe you. Especially to someone else. You certainly are no longer....usual. _

**_Then…. What I said to that trickster…. That’s why you reacted when I asked if I’d get my own get-out-of-jail-free card._ **

_ I admit I…. don’t necessarily understand where that term comes from. But I understand what you mean… _

They both trail off into silence.

**_You don't need to be sorry. I made my own choices. I’d still be in this boat with or without you._ **

_ That’s not true, it may not have been that bad if you had stopped without accepting me. _

**_‘May not have’ means that you don’t know. I don’t know either. For all I know, my brother could have kicked me to the curb after this and I would have realized I’d changed anyway. For all you know, things went past the point of no return days ago. It’s not your fault so don’t blame yourself. Blame me, blame the demons who pushed me here, blame Dean for bringing me back. But all you’ve done so far is do what I asked of you and protect yourself. I can’t be mad at you for that._ **

Lucifer doesn't seem to have anything to say to that, so Sam let's himself sit in silence for a moment as his thoughts wander.

**_...Will you tell me more about your siblings?_ **

_ Right…. Yes…. I was going to explain about Michael. _

**_I’m also curious about Gabriel. Cas mentioned Raphael once, and Michael has come up a lot while researching, but he never mentioned Gabriel. Isn’t he supposed to play a big role in this, too?_ **

Lucifer goes still at that question.  _ I don’t know… Even before I blocked off those senses, when my siblings were screaming, I reached for him but I could not… i could not feel him…. _

**_Lucifer?_ **

_ That isn’t normal, Sam. I’ve always been able to tell he was alive, before. But maybe that is just it…. Things were different Before…. Maybe I’ve changed too much…  _ Lucifer dims at that, tightening up and condensing. At least now his rotations feel more even, moving slowly throughout.  _ Come closer to me again and I’ll show you. _

With a huff, Sam kicks himself for forgetting and closes his eyes to relax. It takes a few moments, but with less effort than the day before he surrounds himself with his mental apartment. He frowns at the archangel, eyeing his chaotic appearance and wondering why he hadn't been called in earlier. He can read the other’s emotions easier when they are both projecting like this, can share information more easily by manipulating the books and tables. He should have been doing this the entire time instead of staring blankly at his own clasped hands and the hotel floor like a fool.

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” he states almost as soon as he can see the other’s faces. “You don’t have to.”

_ I don’t want to tell you, I want to  _ show _ you.  _ He pauses, then clarifies.  _ My memories. I cannot remember my own birth, so that I had to tell, but for other things…..  _ Lucifer's light starts fluctuating wildly, casting harsh shadows that fade in and out. It changes cool to warm and back again, his emotions burning and freezing their connection in equal measure.  _ I would like it if you would let me push them into you, so you can see what I saw. I am not yet good with words and I don't want anything lost in translation. _

Sam feels nauseous.

"I—" He swallows, blinking rapidly despite knowing he doesn't need to. Not in here, not in his own mind. He isn't even really  _ seeing _ anything. This is nothing more than his own expectations of how his human body should react, how he  _ thinks _ he should be reacting. He needs to stop thinking, stop expecting. Stop letting things influence his reactions and just look at what's directly in front of him.

And really, it's not like thinking has gotten him all that far in the past. Just a dead end in a school system he can't return to and a dead end plan that led to regret and the apocalypse. Thinking things through just didn't seem to work for him these days. Following his gut hadn't gone much better but….. But he couldn't stop himself from wanting to trust in good intentions. He wanted to trust the person— being— _person_ looking so conflicted right in front of him. He's already possessing him, he doubts things could get much worse.

Lucifer flushes cold again, this time staying that way longer.  _ Sam, this is your decision but I would prefer… This way would be easier for me. _

"I trust you," Sam makes a split second decision then continues on with more conviction. He's not sure if Lucifer even understands conviction or tone of voice, but it matters. He's decided it matters. "Whatever— however— it is you need, do it. Yes. Show me."

Lucifer brightens minutely. Almost hesitantly he shifts, not coming closer but instead expanding. Stretching. For the first time, Sam can see feathered wings pushing outwards and spreading, spreading like the light that is reaching towards his face. Then it touches him and all he can process is blinding pain.

Pain, pain, throbbing through him, forcing his vision white. Then it fades and he is staring at a clear, cloudless blue. All he can feel is euphoria. Just clear, boundless euphoria.

He doubts he'd ever felt anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF I FORGOT TO CAPITALIZE AN H PLEASE DONT TELL ME IM DYING ENOUGH ALREADY WRITING LUCIFER POV IS HONESTLY SO tiring. I am honestly so tired. I know my every other weekend schedule meant I should have updated two weekends ago and again this upcoming weekend but with everything that's going on I'm not doing so hot. A lot of my chronic issues are flaring up right now and it's just not a good situation for me to get quality editing done. I ended up cutting the next section from this chapter bc I just couldn't get the words right.
> 
> I am hopeful that since I finally managed to finish THIS section maybe I'll be able to get that 1k I cut off the end to turn into a fully edited chapter soonish.... A shorter chapter, maybe, but progress nonetheless.
> 
> I hope yall are doing okay yourselves. Hang in there.


End file.
